


Static

by carefulwiththatwolfwhistle (ashinan)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Finale thoughts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/carefulwiththatwolfwhistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles screams and it's static.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Static

**Author's Note:**

> I blame everything on [Katka](http://thegrumpiestwolf.tumblr.com/) and [Abby](http://kigichi.tumblr.com/). I hate you both. So much. 
> 
> My thoughts on who I think will get hurt in the finale.

It’s static in his ears, catching on the corners and cascading into his head. It crackles and grows, smothers the thrum of his heartbeat, the rush of his blood, the screaming in his mind that goes on and on and _on_. It overwhelms his senses, the pinpricks of static snarling in the corners of his eyes as his vision tunnels. It circles around Derek’s hand against his chest, tugging him back, tugging him away. It snaps over his vocal chords, thrumming with sound, and he realizes the noise isn’t just in his head.

Stiles is screaming.

The static keeps him safe. The static makes the blood fuzzy. It makes the gashes look like papier-mâché. It makes the scent like a copper penny in his mouth, against his nose, dripping over his lips. It makes things look imaginative.

 _Imagination is more important than knowledge_.

He imagines, then, that his father sits up. He imagines that he turns to Stiles, smiles that crooked grin of his, and reaches out. He imagines tucking into his father’s embrace, imagines the piney curl of his aftershave, imagines the kiss on his forehead, imagines, imagines, imagines, _don’t stop, please don’t stop, don’t let it stop_. He imagines and knowledge slaps him with reality.

Nails dig into his skin and it’s a warning. He doesn’t care, fights against Derek’s hold, the static snarling up around his lips into a cry of fury. He pushes into Derek’s claws, daring him, calling his bluff. Derek makes a noise against the nape of his neck. “Calm.”

 _Calm_. He can’t be calm. He wants to sink his teeth into someone’s bones, wants to spill kerosene over the world and light the match; he wants to tear apart the ground, fill his fingers with blood and fire and _fury_. He screams and it’s static.

There are people in his house, now, people moving over him and through him. He’s static, catching in the air, spilling out into the spaces and filling them with agony. He’s static, clawing at Derek’s hand on him, drawing blood, biting down on the pennies in his mouth. He’s static, fighting forward, sobs pulsing from his throat in the aftermath of his howl.

There’s a gasp of air and it’s echoed throughout the house, cutting through the pervading noise. Stiles screams, and sound pushes back the static. People talking, machines beeping, the silence so _missing_ that it feels like its own presence. Stiles screams and his name answers him, breathed out on a whisper. Derek doesn’t let him go. People crowd, press forward, their clothing like ghosts. The reapers have come and Stiles can only scream.

They part, momentarily, allow him the glimpse of hope. A mask. An oxygen mask over his father’s mouth. His chest. His chest is moving. Stiles screams for him and his father’s eyes open. The static bites into the soft underbelly of his thoughts and he drops, his legs curling up with white noise. Derek catches him, drags him close enough that Stiles can feel the answering static in Derek’s heartbeat.

The people return, blocking his view, and he reaches. Imagines they part for him, imagines they allow him a steady glimpse of his father. Imagines that Jackson tearing into his father was a hallucination, imagines Gerard standing over him as he fought off the paralytic just a nightmare, imagines the last word(s) his father spoke while he fell was _I love you_ and not _run_. He imagines and wills and fights and it’s static.

Derek pulls him away and he doesn’t have the strength to fight him. They end up in the corner, tucked up against the doorframe. He keeps his hand out, watching his fingers, watching them reach. Imagines all the while.

 _Imagination is more important than knowledge_.

He banishes the static. He needs to be dynamic.

Stiles screams. 


End file.
